Mr. Rowe stood, came around his desk, and leaned informally against the other table in the room. “My purpose here is to make sure my client recoups their money, but I also don’t want to see the Society taken advantage of. Everything I know about Mr. Bauer points to the fact that he’s desperate, and desperate men are unpredictable. I’d like to attend the symposium to keep an eye on things. If I’m mistaken and all is well, no harm is done. But if I’m right, well, we will both benefit.”
Ella considered his suggestion. Mr. Rowe’s attendance at the symposium would not be surprising, given that he was, at one time, a student and that his father had been a Society member, but Phoebe’s warning about Mr. Rowe and his profession bellowed. Even without looking at Mrs. Chatterly, Ella sensed the censure oozing from her, but if Ella had this opportunity, why would she not take it?
“Very well, Mr. Rowe. I thank you for sharing your information with me. Please consider yourself officially invited to the symposium at Keatley Hall.”
Mr. Rowe bowed and grinned. “I humbly accept.”
Chapter 9
ELLA WANTED TOtrust her father.
His brilliance and confidence inspired her, and for years they had been of one mind on numerous topics. He consistently challenged her to question the world around her—to seek new solutions and explore new ideas.
But in the two years since his first heart episode, small changes had chipped away at the man she’d known. He’d grown quieter. More guarded and cautious. She knew he wanted the best for her, but she no longer understood him in the way she once had.
Two weeks had passed since she returned from London. Her conversation with Mr. Rowe remained at the forefront of every thought, and up until then she’d believed her biggest problem was Mr. Bauer.
Now, as she sat across from Mr. Abernathy at the dinner table, it was clear: She faced a much larger quandary. She could only stare as Mr. Abernathy and her father spoke of the upcoming school session.
How could her father think this man was the best person for her?
Ella had never been a romantic at heart, and emotions were not a priority at Keatley Hall, but she could not ignore Mr. Abernathy’s dull disposition. He was a very plain man. In fact, everything about him was ordinary. Ordinary height. Ordinary weight. He was neither handsome nor repulsive. Even the inflection of his voice was tediously monotone, and he never seemed to smile.
At least the Hawthorne family was scheduled to arrive the next day, and the symposium guests would arrive the day after that. She hoped that Phoebe could help her come to some acceptance of this, for she certainly could not do it herself.
As she forced herself to take another bite of the white soup before her, she could not help but compare Mr. Abernathy to the engaging Mr. Rowe. Just the thought of Mr. Rowe’s alluring energy and his vibrant confidence boosted her sense of vitality, but she had to be practical. He would be here for one reason only—to help prevent Mr. Bauer from taking advantage of a situation.
When they were nearing the last course, Mr. Abernathy turned toward her, as if finally noticing her presence. “Miss Wilde, your father tells me that you have plans for improvements in the conservatory.”
Surprised at the sudden turn of topic, Ella lowered her spoon to the table. “Yes. Well, I hope to in the coming year or so. There is a greenhouse in London where they installed pipes inside the walls, and they use steam to help heat the room during the colder months by warming the walls. I hope to do the same here.”
Eager to engage in a topic that might help her develop some sort of common interest with Mr. Abernathy, she was keen to hear his response, but Mr. Abernathy turned back to her father with a question regarding the chemistry curriculum.
Ella wiped the corner of her mouth with the linen napkin, reminding herself of her promise to consider Mr. Abernathy. She did not possess an unrealistic expectation of marital bliss, but she would prefer to be able to hold a conversation with the gentleman. Time would tell if she and Mr. Abernathy could find congruity, but for now, her confidence in the plan was waning.
In a matter of hours Keatley Hall would be unrecognizable.
Ella clutched her ecru wool shawl tightly about her shoulders as the three Hawthorne carriages turned through Keatley Hall’s timeworn stone arched entrance and rumbled up the long gravel drive.
Hoof beats intensified as the conveyances drew closer and the carriages’ ornate finishings came into focus. It would be another day before the rest of the guests would begin arriving for the symposium, but, as usual, the Hawthornes and their servants arrived early to prepare.
Fresh enthusiasm seized her as the first carriage rolled to a stop and one of the Keatley Hall footmen opened the door. She prepared to rush toward the carriage to embrace her friend, but she stopped short. It was not a Hawthorne family member who emerged. Instead, a striking, unusually tall older woman clad in an elaborate traveling gown of aubergine merino wool emerged. Glittering sapphire jewels—ostentatiously bright for the early hour—sparkled at her throat, and an ostrich feather plumed from her velvet-trimmed chip bonnet and fluttered in the afternoon’s damp breeze. The newcomer paused long enough for her gaze to climb Keatley Hall, and then her painted lips curved in a slow,approving smile. She accepted the assistance of a footman to step down the carriage block and then turned as Mr. Hawthorne trailed her from the carriage and offered her his hand.
Confused at the unanticipated guest, Ella leaned toward her father. “Who is that?”
He shrugged. “I’ve no idea.”
But then Phoebe, bright-eyed and pink-cheeked, poked her head from the carriage. Smile beaming on her thin lips and her periwinkle bonnet ribbons fluttering, she eagerly accepted the footman’s assistance. Hands outstretched, she hurried toward Ella. “Dear Ella!” Phoebe embraced Ella and kissed her cheek.
Her father stepped forward to greet the Hawthornes, and Ella pulled Phoebe’s hand closer. “Who is that lady?”
Phoebe giggled and glanced over her shoulder at the woman in question. “I have so much to tell you. It’s all gossip and wicked to talk of such things, of course, but so much has changed. Come. I’ll introduce you.”
Once the group gathered, her father spoke first. “Ah, Hawthorne, you are full of surprises, I say. Will you introduce us to your lovely traveling companion?”
Mr. Richard Hawthorne, a hefty man with thick pewter hair and a round face, beamed as he extended his arm toward the distinguished woman accompanying them. “I didn’t think you’d mind an additional guest, Wilde. May I introduce Miss Louisa Sutton.”
Before any response could be made, Miss Sutton placed a gloved hand coyly on Ella’s father’s arm, and her dark gaze was unwaveringly direct. “I do hope I’m not intruding, Mr. Wilde. I’ve been so fascinated by phrenology for quite some time, and the moment Mr. Hawthorne told me of this symposium, I just knew I had to be a part of it.”
